Hell or High Water
by Evanescently
Summary: Karen has one final task she must complete before leaving the vigilante world forever, one final investigation to unravel before starting anew somewhere else - anywhere else. But first, she must solve Ben's last case: a missing person's report for a man named Edward Drogan. Characters from season 1 as well as Daredevil. (I was not fulfilled after season 2. Let's do it justice.)
1. Chapter 1

Slow beginning. Then it picks up.

Chapter One

To be honest, the last six months felt like crime had been increasing. A rolling tide of newspaper blurbs kept a steady stream of homicides on the front page of the Times. Most of the gruesome descriptions were reports of gang on gang violence, but occasionally there would be an unfortunate bystander who got caught in the crossfire.

Karen wondered if this was a response to Frank's provocations; perhaps the dying gasps of criminal organizations desperately clinging to relevance and pretending to inflate their numbers to appear formidable. Lashing out because they were on the defensive knowing a one-man army was on the hunt, and they the prey.

But the squeaky wheel always gets the grease. Shout loud enough that you're still relevant, and Frank will notice.

Turning the page, Karen noted that despite another bystander killed in collateral damage last week by what was left of the Italian mob moving some of their product, their alleged ring leader had apparently been killed in a home invasion last night. No witnesses. Not even an unknown car parked on the street.

Despite herself, Karen couldn't help but smirk as she sipped her evening coffee.

It had to be him.

"What's the smile for? It's Monday," Foggy groaned and sat down in her office.

He looked like hell.

"Jesus, Foggy. You look like a stomach bug is trying to kill you."

He grunted. "Yeah, only the stomach bug is our wedding planner and Marci is going to kill me."

Karen gave his forearm a supportive squeeze. "I'm sure you'll get through it."

"You clearly don't understand Marci, then. I'm so far behind on our list of things to do, we were supposed to settle on table setting two weeks ago. Everything else is finalized, but Marci can't find the right place to put people." Foggy took a moment to breathe. He sagged back into the chair, giving up on good posture for the moment.

Karen made a face. "The wedding is in _two weeks_."

"Christ, I had no idea."

They stared at each other for a moment, then each let out a few small chuckles.

"I'm a dead man," Foggy sighed. "I could try to help her again, but all of my suggestions are always wrong."

"And it's going to be big. Knowing Marci's family, lots of New York debutantes and socialites will be there. Anyone who is anyone."

Foggy nodded, rubbing his temples. "It's going to be the event of the season, according to Bridal Magazine."

Karen smiled and shook her head. "You're in way over your head. But the important thing is that Marci loves you. You two are practically relationship goals, the way you both back each other up. And that's the most important connection you can find in life. Not looks, because they fade. Not brains, because no one adapts. Not stability, because it's an illusion. Loyalty."

"True," Foggy conceded. "Now let's talk about something else. Like your new obsession with this case file."

Karen was stunned into silence for a moment.

"Oh, c'mon. I could see it from my office. The way your nose is buried in that file, like all life stops and you're consumed by what you're reading. I only see that look on your face when you're in the middle of a case you're working on."

She nervously ran a hand through her hair. "Well…it's a case I took while I was still working for The Bulletin. I casually made some xerox copies and brought them back home. Then Ellison fired me for not revealing Matt's identity, and I should have returned everything, but I couldn't shake this one."

"Why?" Foggy asked.

Karen looked up from her desk, guilt-ridden. "It was Ben's last case before Fisk murdered him."

Tears began to well up, though she valiantly fought them back.

"I owe Ben this much. He was _killed _because Fisk found out that he had tracked down Fisk's mother. Only Ben didn't. _I did_. And I dragged Ben with me to see her. But he didn't implicate me when Fisk interrogated him. Ben kept me safe, and in doing so he got killed."

"Fuck," Foggy's clouded expression of fatigue seemed to clear. "I'm so sorry, Karen."

"So am I," another voice echoed.

She looked up and saw Matt standing in the doorway.

He wasn't wearing his usual red glasses, or walking with a cane anymore around the office when there weren't any clients. Monday evenings were usually a light day for their re-newly opened firm. It was strange seeing him this way, just casually walking around the office as if he had sight. Normally, Karen would have been overjoyed to find out he could sense things incredibly well, and in fact be more keenly aware of his surroundings than most people with sight. But seeing Matt like this only reminded Karen of the lie.

The endless lie.

He nodded to the case file. "What's the story?"

She wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat. "Missing persons. His name is Edward Drogan. His file says he worked in freelance, but that could mean anything. He was also in the Marine Corps, fought in several tours, both OEF and OIF, got out, and after that I can't find anything. He's got a brother in Queens I was going to visit today. See if I could ferret out any information about Edward before he disappeared."

"I'll come with," Matt offered grabbing his coat.

She shook her head. "I don't need you to come with me."

He was halfway across the office, but he could still hear her.

"This case means a lot to you. I want to help," he picked up his coat from his office. "Maybe that's making sure the brother doesn't lie to you by sensing his heartbeat. Maybe that's gaining his trust by telling him we've tracked down people before with success. Either way, I want to be of use."

"I don't need you babysitting me, because that's what this is." Karen stood up from her chair and gathered her things in a hurry.

Why couldn't anyone believe that she could take care of herself? The worst part was hearing Matt sound so righteous, so 'noblesse oblige', like she was some lesser-than who always needed protection from the big bad world. She had begun to take a martial arts class, packed a concealed carry, mace, and brass knuckles. What more did he want from her? Powers?

"Karen," Foggy politely blocked her exit. "Give him a chance. You've been cold and distant with him for a while now. And believe me, no one has more cause to hate him than I have, but you're making it difficult for him to show you that he wants to start mending things."

She paused, watching Matt stand awkwardly by the door, pretending he couldn't hear what they were saying across the room and through a wall.

Karen looked into Foggy's eyes. "Why do you keep forgiving him? He will _always _find a way to lie to you when shit gets ugly. And I know it's because he cares and doesn't want to put us in harm's way, but look how that's turned out so far."

He paused and considered his next words carefully. "Because despite everything - the deception and leading two lives, he's family, and he would die for us. Isn't there no greater connection than loyalty?"

She smirked for a second time. "Clever. Using my own words against me."

"Well, you're not wrong - loyalty means everything after what you and I have been through."

She sighed and accepted his proposal, walking to the doorway.

Karen then turned around. "You know, there's loyalty, and then there's trust. Matt may be loyal. But he has yet to gain my trust again, if ever again."

She turned to look at Matt.

"Alright, let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Frank pressed in the new auto part until he heard a distinct click. Pleased, he leaned back and wiped the sweat from his brow. Working with his hands at the auto repair shop gave him satisfaction and a sense of calm and simple purpose that he seldom felt. That is, until his 'night job' started. It was probably useless listening to people at Group struggle with readjusting back to civilian life, but he understood that most people needed to recognize their demons. Go through the healing process, even if it meant submitting to the fact that what happened to them was all real, true, and horrifying. Ordinary people needed to face those fears to heal, or else face the consequences…

A vision of Lewis's body blasting into meat chunks intruded into his mind and the metal meatlocker doors blasting open a split second later. He'd tackled Karen, rushed her like a linebacker, and cradled her head as they had fallen down. Never in his life had he ever held on to someone so tightly.

"Thank you _so_ _much_," stated a honey-coated voice. The girl couldn't have been more than 21. Judging from her curled hair, makeup, and low-cut tank top that boldly stated she was young enough to want to show off, the girl was clearly in college.

The glitter from the screen-printed words _Live, Laugh, Love_ on her shirt made Frank feel ancient.

"The guy said over the phone that it was something about my ignition coils needing a replacement. Something wasn't firing right."

Avoiding her intentful stare as she leaned forward a little too obviously, Frank nodded. "Whenever that happens, I always check the fuel filter first. It's good to replace those every 30,000 miles on these older cars, otherwise a lot of gunk can build up, which leads to your engine choking and your ignition coils misfiring. It can give you the impression that you're having an engine problem when really you just need a $50 filter replacement."

She laughed and ran a manicured hand through her auburn colored hair, and suddenly Frank remembered the same quirk from a tenacious blonde reporter.

It was Karen's tell when she was distressed or when she was awkwardly hugging him inside her apartment; her tell when she felt so many things at once and wanted to shout them all in his face. How she would let him have it, call him out on his shit. How he privately loved it.

"So how much do I owe you?" the girl opened her wallet.

"Parts and labor, just $40," Frank stated as he finished putting her car back together and cleaned his fingers on a ratty hand towel.

She smiled. "I thought you said it was a $50 filter change, not including labor."

"College discount," Frank met her gaze and handed her the keys.

The girl laughed again, somehow impressed he deduced the obvious, and let her hand linger as it connected with his, "College kids need all the help we can get. You are so _sweet_."

Frank's gaze awkwardly hit the ground. This girl was only a handful of years older than the age Lisa would be this year. His stomach lurched.

"It's no trouble, miss," he turned around and filled out the paperwork. The girl gave him three $20s and held up her hand when he inhaled to protest.

"Keep the change. You've saved me so much grief today, and you're more than a little cute with your sour demeanor," she winked.

Frank managed a gruff but appreciative nod as she got into her car and started the engine, goosing it a little to hear it purr.

_Jesus_, he thought.

A rough hand clapped his back. Miguel Santiago, one of the oldest mechanics at the auto shop and one of the sharpest minds Frank had the pleasure of knowing the past year, let out a long whistle and shook his head. He was also a dirty old man and a Marine. In that order.

"How come you didn't hit her up, Pete? She was all over you. That was some low-hanging fruit you could have picked right there," he stated in a thick accent, then gesturing with his hands, "We're talking some sweet, juicy, symmetrical melons, ripe for picking Haha!"

Frank chuckled and playfully slapped Miguel's back, turning away as she waved from the distance, driving off. "That girl's jail bait."

"I checked her driver's license when she first pulled up and you brought her inside. She is a taut, physically fit 22-year-old woman who was hot for you, my man," Miguel teased. "If I was your age, back in my prime, that girl would have gotten more than a college discount," his eyebrows bounced up and down as he elbow-ribbed Frank.

"And when was your prime, old man? 1970-what? You dirty bastard," Frank laughed and waved him off, shutting his tool box and punching out for the day.

"Hey, Pete," Miguel called back, "My family's coming over tonight. We're gonna pull out all the stops for dinner. You should come."

Tonight, Frank had other plans. He fitted his cap over his sharp haircut and scratched at his shaped, short-cut beard. Glancing at himself in the reflection of a car window, Frank noted how he looked less like a hipster and more like an Italian hitman. Toothpick, small gold chain. He had to look the part, after all. Blend in with the civilians.

Move on from thinking he could have a normal life. Return back to his previous life as The Punisher.

"Gonna have to take a rain check, boss," Frank slung his backpack over a shoulder and tapped his baseball cap respectively, heading out as the sky began to darken.

It wasn't a long walk to his apartment, and he needed to feel the cold air fill his lungs. It was a fresh start, living on his own, making friends…with difficulty, attending Curtis's Group, punching in and clocking out, killing criminals in his off hours. He enjoyed this simple parts of life.

After Frank had killed Rawlins and incapacitated Billy, he returned to Maria in his mind that night, to the place where she beckoned him home. To the sweet release of death. Frank retraced his steps back to that dark room, waiting for her to materialize in front of him, hand extended and smile expectant. But no one was there. He had his chance. He made his choice to live. And now she was gone, forever this time.

After that, Frank did not dream at all. He would wake from long bouts of tossing and turning, only to jerk into consciousness grasping for his rifle. Then he would remember he was in a shitty apartment in Queens. After relaxing back into his covers, he'd let the blackness consume him once more but could never remember what he dreamt about.

Then, after a year of trying to move on, and clearly failing, Madani showed up and whisked him away to New York to finish what he had started. When it became apparent that Billy couldn't remember why Frank had mangled his face, it all flooded back. Dreams and waking visions of his wife lying on the ground, dead. The lifeless bodies of his children still twitching in his arms, their last expressions set in confusion and horror. He had tried to avenge them, but it had all been for nothing, and he was back where he started.

Billy couldn't comprehend why Frank was trying to kill him. The first time around, greed had blinded Billy from understanding the importance of family and what it meant to be a father. A protector. Then it was because of retrograde amnesia. It was time to end it. Curtis calling Frank to tell him that Billy was dying in the Group basement was like music to his ears. And just like that, two bullets later, watching Billy's eyes glaze over, that night his family dreams were no longer charged. They were simply happy memories. Now their spirits could move on, be at peace, and so could he.

The hair on the back of Frank's neck suddenly rose. He paused on the street and furtively glanced around, then kept moving forward. The dusk lighting was just enough to notice a shadow was following him, just out of peripheral vision, but Frank couldn't make out who it was without tipping his hand. So he casually kept walking and turned a corner, ducking into an alley. From behind the safety of the wall, Frank pressed his body against it. He heard footsteps clumsily approach the corner, then retreat, then approach. Oscillation on the pavement along with loud clomping steps made Frank realize this was an amateur. Or someone very well disguised to seem like an amateur.

The boots finally rounded the corner and slowed cautiously down the alleyway.

3…

2...

1…

Frank lunged forward, punching the man square in the jaw before retracting his arm.

The man staggered backwards and fell to the floor, wildly grasping at anything to break his fall. Instead, a few trashcans came down with him. He was stunned for a few seconds before the pain set in and he began to howl.

Frank advanced, winding up for another strike for good measure, when he recognized the kid.

"..._Donny_?"

The kid grunted in response.

"Pete, it's me! It's Donny Chavez from the construction job. Don't hurt me, please." He sat up and nursed his bleeding nose.

"Jesus, kid. What the _hell_ were you thinking, coming back here? I told you to get the hell out."

He snorted out some red mucus and rubbed his streaming eyes. "Man, I forgot how much getting hit in the nose sucks."

Frank helped him stand and brushed him off. Poor kid looked like he'd been worked half to death. His clothes were a ratted mess, he had lost about 50 pounds, and his skin had an unhealthy gray pallor.

After a moment of expectant silence, Donny attempted to smile. "So…How you been?"

Frank sharply exhaled. "Kid, why are you here tracking me down like this?"

"Well…it's been almost two years. And I couldn't stay away for long. You know I'm trying to work so that I can pay for my grandma's meds. I found another job. This one was working in a warehouse, but I got laid off a few months ago. Cut backs and new management."

Donny let the sentence linger. The shame was plain on his face.

"Got into more trouble, huh," Frank said, slightly shaking his head.

_Goddamn kid. _

"I didn't mean to, it's just her meds are so expensive, and I was going to lapse on my payments." Donny rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm in some debt and this loan shark is onto me."

"Christ," Frank closed his eyes and leaned on the wall. "And you want me to do what? Kill him?"

"No! No, nothing like that…nothing like what you did to those guys two years ago. Which I am grateful for…I was just thinking that if we jumped him together or something. Convinced him that I'm not worth his time or trouble, maybe he'd back off…"

Donny shrugged, palms facing up like this was the best he could do and that he was out of options.

Frank let out a deep sigh.

"_Please_, you're the only one who would help me. I got no one else to turn to. I don't have much, but I can-"

"Alright, alright. _Shit_." Frank waved him off. "Do you know where this loan shark is? Where he lives? Where his daytime job is?"

Donny nodded. "Yeah, actually I do. He works as a night security guard for this museum. It's not far from here."

"Then we hit it tomorrow. I've got to do some recon first."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

What could have been a 45 minute drive to Queens at 8pm turned into Carmageddon. Multiple accidents on multiple highways. Now Karen found herself in an awkward hour and a half long cab ride spent mostly in silence with Matt. He would occasionally turn his head and face her for a moment, probably considering some ice breaker to start with, and then, after a few seconds would go by, turn his face back toward the window.

The old Karen would have felt obligated to start the conversation, think of some pacifying statement that would placate both of them into coming straight to a solution, bypassing the entire process of conflict resolution. But not this time. Not this Karen. She had a goddam right to go through all of the emotions. At the time, necessity demanded that she repress everything. But now that their lives had cooled off and danger was no longer imminent, there was time to contemplate and actually think about things now. And now, she had a goddam right to be angry and work through it instead of pathologically forcing herself to eat her anger again, and again, and again for the sake of other people.

She wasn't obligated to reach out with an olive branch on his behalf so that they could move forward. He was the one who royally fucked her and Foggy over. And Foggy more than most.

Karen took a deep breath in, remembering how quick Foggy was to encourage them to mend fences. Easier said than done. But he was right, one of two things would happen. Either she would find a way to move passed this and forgive Matt, again, or she would clearly need to start looking for work. Either way, things couldn't stay the way they were right now.

"I'm sorry, Karen."

She turned her head from the window, startled by the noise. He looked…genuine.

Her expression softened.

Then again, that was part of the reason it hurt so much: he really did care. And it was still all a lie. The fact that he was a good person just made it worse.

She turned away. "It's fine."

"You have every right to be mad at me. I just want to know one thing: everything seemed okay between us after Fisk was put away for good. The three of us toasted at Josie's to start up the firm again, with your name added should you ever make it through law school and pass the bar. We were all in good spirits. And then, somehow that changed. It took me a minute to realize, but things turned sour after Frank stormed into town again. May I ask why?"

Though he never looked anyone in the eye, through his glasses she could tell he was completely focused on her. No trace of malice, trickery, or lies. Just plain curiosity and concern.

"Karen…I don't know if I can genuinely apologize for something if I'm not exactly sure of what it is - or which one of what I did - that is upsetting you."

She fumbled with her purse strap in her lap, deciding to let go and just tell him instead of disregarding her feelings. "Most of my anger isn't directed at you, per se. It's all of you. All vigilantes. I'm just sick of it."

"But why now? And why after Frank?"

She frowned, taken aback by the name drop again. "It's all of you, not just Frank. Like I said."

"Right, but things changed _after _Frank showed up. What happened in that hospital?"

Karen angrily wondered why he was pressing on this particular nerve, now of all times. Perhaps because she was trapped in a car with him until they reached their destination.

"I made the mistake of thinking that he could move on; that I was capable of helping him," she answered hotly. "But he pushed me away. You _all _push me away. And I'm done. It hurts too much to care anymore. So I'm distancing myself because I have to to survive. I can't live in a world where I care and put in effort that just isn't reciprocated or appreciated."

"What if he contacts you again?"

"Why do you _care_?" her voice rose. "Why is this _all about him_?"

He paused, and his voice changed from an inquisitive riposte to a disarming calm. "Karen, c'mon. No matter what is going on separately in each of your lives, you two will somehow always manage to run into each other. Either you needing him, or vise versa."

She forced out her next sentence so quickly her tongue caught on several words. "On the _slightest _chance that the universe plays a sick joke on me and he shows up in my life again, I'd tell him off."

"Even if he asks for your help, or you need his? I mean that's usually how this starts."

"Why are you asking me these questions? You should be apologizing for what _you_ did!" Karen blurted out at a shout.

But she lost all momentum when he took off his glasses and stared straight into her eyes.

"Because I've seen the way he looks at you. It's the way I looked at you, once. The look of agonizing contemplation, whether or not to entertain such an idea as to be a part of another woman's life again, and for her to be a part of yours. To share everything with her. Fall in love again. Go through all the firsts again. Feel feverish new love turn into temperate, long-term companionship. We sat on the steps of your apartment and I wondered about all of these things. But I turned it down because I felt the need to keep up the lie. And for that, and all of the other subsequent lies, deception, and pain I've since caused you, I am _truly _sorry."

It look Karen several seconds to coordinate her thoughts. The sincerity in his apology was like a warm blanket she wanted to wrap herself in. The warm blanket of normalcy again. But she hesitated.

How could Matt have known how she and Frank acted around each other? How could he have known how Frank acted around her? Or infer how Frank feels towards her? Was it that obvious to see through his powers? Had Matt seen something?

Did Frank really care for her the same way she thought she cared about him?

Her mind clamped shut like a steel trap. It didn't matter now. None of that mattered after Frank had made things clear to her a year ago.

"Frank is no different, Matt. He may not be a liar, but he rejects me all the same. And-"

"Does he? Truly? There's no doubt that you two run into each other more than normal. And every time that happens, is it really rejection, or more like denial?" Matt asked.

That halted Karen again. She tried to think of a way to disprove or discredit his thoughts, but she couldn't. Yet neither could she entertain his ideas, as much as a part of her still, after all this time, wanted to believe in hope. But she dared to dream once and got burned for it. Now she either had to learn from it, or risk falling back into old habits.

Fortunately, they were interrupted when the cab finally reached its destination, and after paying the charge, Karen and Matt found themselves in the middle of Queens, finally.

She focused on the layout of the street instead of pondering her increasingly intrusive thoughts. Most of the apartments looked remodeled or refurbished, but she could recognize the older historic foundations. This particular apartment had four stories to it, and after quickly double checking her notepad, she walked up to the buzzer and pressed on apartment number 2.

After a few seconds, the receiver crackled.

"Yeah?" a voice answered.

"Hi…" Karen checked her notepad again. "…Is this Sam Drogan?"

"Who's asking?"

"My name is Karen Page. I work at a law firm in Hell's Kitchen. I'm working on your brother's case, his missing person's report, that is. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you have time."

Another pause, this time one that was long enough to infer doubt.

"I used to work for The Bulletin as a reporter. I was a friend of the man who originally took your case, but he was murdered. I've since taken it upon myself to try and finish what he started." She tried to sound reassuring and positive.

Still no response.

"I also have a coworker who is-" she turned around, but Matt had disappeared. "Who is also working on it as well. Please, Sam. I want to help."

The buzzer finally clicked and the gate opened.

The apartment door was already open when she walked in. Boxes were everywhere. Almost the entirety of the apartment was packed up. Karen looked around in confusion for a moment.

"Sam?"

A scrawny looking young man with wild, unkempt brown hair poked his head from around the bedroom door.

"Yeah, that's me. What do you want to know?"

He sounded defeated.

"When was the last time you saw your brother?"

He stopped packing and looked up at her with a bitter smile. "Wow, The Bulletin didn't even do you the courtesy of giving you his notepad on this?"

She blinked. "He had a notepad?"

Sam nodded, "Yup. He came to visit like 3 or 4 times. Had a pad and paper with him every time. Then he stopped coming by. I thought I was just another cold case number to him and that work just happened to pile up. Now I know the real reason."

Sam motioned for her to sit down on a heavy box and sat down on the floor.

"He wasn't blowing me off, then. That makes me feel better," he relaxed his back against the living room wall.

"If you can, go over everything you can remember that you told him." Karen clicked her pen and dated the page she was on.

"Eddie got out in early 2015…like March or April. Got a job working at a deli not far from here, but then some guy in a suit came by once when I was helping him unload the food inventory from the supply trucks. They greeted each other like old war buddies. Suit guy said he could hook my brother up working for his business. Eddie said he'd consider it. Next thing I know, Eddie is making some serious bucks at this job he won't tell me about. So I figured Eddie took suit guy's offer. This went on from like June to August. Eddie was gone almost all the time. Never really saw him except on alternate weekends. If I didn't see the social media post, I never would have known he was working as one of Olivia Waldaire's body guards. I tried to confront him about it, but he wouldn't tell me anything. Then after two weeks away with no alternate weekend at home, I got a bad feeling, so I called the cops. The rest is history."

Karen furiously scribbled into her notepad, fighting through a hand cramp. She finished and reread everything, and the pit of her stomach flipped.

"You said Eddie got out in March or April?"

"Yeah, I think it was like the last week in March or something. He and his team."

Her heart lurched. That was the same year and week that Frank came back.

"What did suit guy look like?" she asked.

Sam closed his eyes and tilted his head. The corner of his mouth curled slightly. "It was five years ago now, and I still remember it like yesterday. Really well groomed. Cropped short beard. His haircut was shaved short along the sides and left longer on top. Eddie called him 'pretty boy'. He was tall too, and well spoken. Had the kind of demeanor you see from someone who either grew up into a trust fund or had the drive to build one on his own. Real smooth talker."

Karen exhaled, unaware she'd been holding in her breath. "Does the name Billy Russo ring any bells?"

Sam shook his head. "If that was the name of suit guy, Eddie never mentioned. Why? Do you know who I'm talking about?"

She felt more than tempted to divulge, and looking into his eager eyes made it all the more worse. A small spark had been lit within him by just one inquiry on her part, but she had to confirm it before saying anything further. There was no need to give him false hope if she was wrong.

"No. At least, I'm not sure," she answered. "Just sounded like a description of someone I once knew. I will look into it. Now, about this social media post…"

"Right," Sam straightened his posture. "So…do you know who Olivia Waldaire is?" He looked slightly surprised that he needed to further clarify that part of the story.

For the first time in her life, Karen felt the twinge of her age creep up.

"I recognize the name from the history books. The Waldaire's are old money. Oil, to be specific. One of Rockefeller's original competitors."

Sam nodded, "More that that, they switched from oil to real estate and smart business investing. The family owns like half of the property on Manhattan now. She's one of New York's top socialites and the heiress to the family fortune. She's a major influencer with millions of followers on Instagram. One of her posts of something had Eddie in the background getting into the face of one of the paparazzi. I recognized him in the photo. That's when I confronted Eddie."

Karen closed her notepad. "I think I have all I need for now. Clearly without Ben's notepad I have some catching up to do. Is there anything you kept of Eddie's?"

Sam hesitated.

"I don't intend to take anything with me," she reassured. "I would just like to see anything he might have kept that would help me locate where he is now. Feel free to look over my shoulder while I'm looking."

"What makes you think looking at his things now will help you find someone who has been missing for 5 years?"

Karen genuinely smiled for the first time all day. "This might surprise you, but I do know a few veterans myself."

Sam consented and walked her to the bedroom, opening up a box. "Here's all I got left."

She examined the box and delicately pulled out a few things that caught her eye. The photo looked old and worn. Brown stains and the dimensions of the photo could have easily fit into a wallet.

"Is this you and Eddie?" she asked.

Sam took the photo. He traced the front of it with his thumb nostalgically. "Yeah, that was at summer camp. He was 13 years older than me, always giving me a hard time. Mom just wanted one good summer camp photo that season, but we were always brawling. I gave him that shiner, and he gave me the broken nose."

Karen chuckled, "But you two look so happy in the photo."

"Yeah, that's just how it was. We'd always fight about stupid shit, and then we would settle it and move on. Can you imagine what it was like back then to compare yourself to a guy who looked like he was varsity captain of the football team?" Sam sighed, "But Eddie was a good guy. After mom and dad died, he tried to take care of us."

"Us?" Karen then pointed to the third person in the photo. A girl not much older than Sam.

"That's our sister. Technically adopted, but she was always a sibling to us. Hannah. She was the true hellraiser of the household. Always getting into trouble. Sneaking out and going to parties. Getting drunk and sleeping around. She's at some fancy psychiatric institution now. Burnt her brains out on some bad heroin from last I heard. The place is real expensive. Funny how she is able to afford living there and I'm stuck moving out of this apartment."

Karen took a moment to write down the fact that they had a sister. It seemed like something he would have mentioned earlier. Sam could sense Karen's suspicion.

"Hannah hasn't really been a part of our lives for over ten years. She stepped out on us a long time ago."

Karen nodded and examined the second thing. Another photo, this time of Eddie and his unit on deployment. Their first deployment from the looks of things. They were all making obscene gestures or headlocking one another. All of them were smiling.

"That was his first deployment. First of four. Eddie told me most of them made it out. A few were not so lucky, and more since had since committed suicide."

Karen didn't recognize anyone in the photo except Edward. No Frank, no Billy. She felt a slight twinge of disappointment that annoyed her. She promptly put the photo back to distance herself from the feeling.

The last thing pulled out of the box was something Karen recognized instantly. And then, another wave of confusion washed over her.

"Do you know what this is?" Karen held out what looked to be a rope necklace.

"Yeah, Eddie always had that on him, even when he came back from deployments. Said it was for good luck or something. I never pretended to understand their world." Sam looked somewhat regretful and indifferent at the same time. "What is it?"

Karen felt it between her fingers and closed her eyes, recalling back the many hours she had spent bent over her laptop researching online to try and understand her client, this murderous asshole locked up in some goddam jail cell at the time who apparently also had a distinguished record and the Naval Cross awarded him.

"It's a rope made out of 550 cord and a 7.62mm round drilled through the middle. The bullet they used to shoot enemies with. They call it a Hog's Tooth. It's given to them upon the completion of their training. They wear it around their necks because it represents the bullet that will kill you. So long as you wear it, it will never find you."

"Which group are you talking about?"

"Scout snipers," Karen replied and set the necklace down. "If Eddie wore it religiously and now it's in a box, something must have gone wrong. A sniper would never take this off unless he-" she cut herself off, remembering how Frank never wore his because he courted death.

"Unless what?" Sam pressed.

Karen turned and looked at him, this time knowing she couldn't lie. "Unless he was looking for a fight and didn't expect to make it out alive."

* * *

Karen shut the gate and began to walk to the street. Matt fell into stride next to her.

"Looks like we need to call a certain CIA agent for more information," he said.

Karen agreed. "I hope she has some information. Otherwise, we're entering into this flying blind."

"Literally," Matt grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The following night, Frank found himself yet again helping Donny through a shifty situation. First it was the construction job two years ago, and now this. It seemed no matter what Donny did, and no matter how hard he tried to change his life for the better, the kid was just a shit magnet. Frank had to hand it to him, though. Donny was smart enough to recognize someone who couldn't say no. Maybe at the end of the day Frank was a sucker for a lost cause after all.

The two of them skirted around the museum property in dark clothing. After prepping Donny on some basic hand signals to avoid speaking, Frank guided both of them away from outside cameras and approached the backside of the museum where trucks dock and unload large plaster fossil jackets. The door had a lock, and fortunately, Donny knew how to pick it fast and clean with no scratch marks. Within minutes of arriving, they were in.

It was one thing to be able to avoid cameras on the outside of the building, but quite another once inside. Frank knew as soon as they were inside there would be no way to avoid them. However, he was banking on the fact that this security guard would not want to admit to the museum owners that two guys jumped him, for fear of getting fired. He might go and tell his mob boss, but Frank was counting on that fun to unfold later. For now, he just hoped the guard wasn't going to admit to his legitimate employers that someone broke into their museum.

Before proceeding, Frank took a minute to get his bearings. By the looks of things, they were in the storage section where fossils were kept until they were ready for curation and display. Huge stacks 30 feet tall housed boxes and boxes of fossils, with the heaviest whale bones on the bottom shelves. It was a maze of dust and bone. But it was quiet, and fortunately none of the paleontologists were working late that night.

He moved forward and trailed carefully through the maze of stacks, slowly checking his corners before rounding, and always listening for footsteps or any kind of noise. They, too, had to be careful, for noise travelled well throughout the building.

Finally, they made it passed storage and into the research center where fossils were curated and prepped for display. Several dinosaur-looking bones looked like they were in the process of being cleaned and cataloged into their inventory. Others looked like they were being prepped for particular show rooms.

Suddenly, something metallic dropped loudly behind Frank. He whirled around, taut as a drawn bowstring with one hand on each side arm.

Donny gave a sheepish expression and winced from the noise of the pan clattering as it spun a few more times before leveling with the ground.

"_Sorry_", he mouthed lowering himself to pick it up. Frank forcefully waved him off, trying to control his temper, and motioned for him not to risk picking it up and making even more noise.

The kid gave him the thumbs up and went back into position.

Frank turned around, silently exhaled his anger out, and proceeded.

They came upon the main section of the museum and heard footsteps. Frank motioned to hold their position. Peeking around the corner, he saw a heavy set man guarding an elevated display case. Walking to one end and then back, the man was hardly paying attention. He was on his cell phone talking to someone.

"Yeah, so I told him to pay us back…With my words? Nah, with my fists…Yeah, so the little shit told me he'd have the money in a week…right…Better be there, otherwise someone might lose a finger…Nah, I'm at work right now…I dunno, some fossil that's super important…some stupid totem, I don't know from where, geez…Alls I know is the fat bitch told me to guard it tonight and nothing else…Hang on…I think I heard something…"

The security guard paused and looked around, then brought his phone back up to his ear.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that…so anyway, this girl I met-"

Something slammed into the back of his head hard, and then it was lights out.

Frank adjusted the glove on his right hand after punching the guy and began to tie up his limbs. Donny helped.

"So, what's the plan, Pete?" he asked. "Scare him? Beat him within an inch of his life?"

Frank finished the last tie. "I'm going to tell him who I am and that I plan on killing him and the entire organization he is a part of. If my reputation precedes me, he will report back to his superiors who will then hunt me down and try to kill me. That's where the fun starts."

"The fun starts?…Wait, reputation?" Donny looked puzzled.

"You should go now." Frank stated in a tone that brooked no negotiation.

"Then what was the point of bringing me along? Do I not get a say?" Donny protested.

Frank met the kid's eyes with a hardened expression. "No, you don't. You forfeited your right to have a say when you were dumb enough to get in trouble with this guy. I brought you along in case there were others so that you could distract some if I was occupied, but now that I know there's just one guy, you should leave. You can't be a part of what happens next, Donny," then, more softly, as he put a hand on Donny's shoulder, "You weren't meant for this line of work."

The kid sighed but conceded. "Yeah..okay. I just wanted to be useful."

"Then _be_ useful. Take out some student loans, go to some vocational school where you can learn a trade, and make legitimate money to help your grandmother out. Don't be down here with the likes of me."

"I'll try," Donny nodded and began walking back towards the way they came in.

The guard began to moan into consciousness.

"Hey, Pete," Donny called out, "It's nice to have friends in low places." He waved goodbye and opened the back door.

A group of men in all black gear exploded out from it and knocked Donny to the ground. It took another second for the leader to measure the kid up and pistol whip him in the jaw. He was out cold.

Frank rose to his feet just in time for the men to form a circle around him, all semi-automatic rifles pointed straight at his chest. From the gear they were wearing, Frank deduced they were a professional hit team aimed at one purpose. Black masks, black polarized Oakley's, black outfits, and enough ammunition and guns strapped to them to supply a small army. The circle broke for a moment to let their leader in. He, too, sized Frank up.

"Well? Don't keep me waiting. C'mon," Frank egged them on, glancing from one man to the next. There was no way in hell he could reach for his side arm or his knife in time before one of them plugged him. And what was the point, anyway, when they so obviously out gunned him? Some part of him knew he would be put down eventually, but not like this. This was completely unexpected, and he and the kid had clearly walked into something with their pants down. And yet, instead of riddling him with bullets, the men were now hesitating. This angered Frank. If he was going to die, why drag the damn thing out?

"What are you waiting for? Finish the job!"

Their leader took a step forward. Then, in one fluid motion, he hit Frank straight on the nose with the butt of his rifle.

* * *

Something was shuffling…

…Or…beeping?

Both…It was someone but also something.

Someone was shuffling…

Shoes shuffling?

No…papers…

And that beeping noise…a monitor…with a distinct beep.

Was he in a hospital?

Frank's eyes shot open. The room was small…make that very small.

It was a car…no, wait.

An ambulance.

He was in the back of an ambulance.

Frank moved to sit up and found his wrists restrained. He was handcuffed to the gurney rails. A paramedic came to his side.

"Sergeant, he's awake," she called out.

"Jesus, do you have to shout?" he cringed. He would have nursed his bloody nose if he had a hand that could reach it. Instead, he craned his neck to see who was coming.

Brett Mahoney came into view from the back of the van and did not look pleased.

"Never thought we'd cross paths again, but I guess it was inevitable," Mahoney stared at him, discontented.

Frank scoffed. "Yeah, I told you to do what you gotta do. You had your shot, but did you take it?"

Mahoney's face hardened. He turned to the paramedic. "I need a minute alone."

She gladly hopped out of the van.

Then the rush of memories came back from the previous night, and Frank tested his restraints again.

"The kid, is he okay?" Frank asked.

"He's fine," Mahoney answered. "Which is more than I can say for you. Here's how this is gonna go down. You're going to tell me everything you know, and if all things pan out, I might not arrest you for murder."

"Murder?" Frank's mind raced. If Donny was okay, then it had to be the security guard. "Jesus, why are you asking me? You have the footage. There are cameras outside and inside the building."

"They were taken out," Mahoney rubbed his temples. "Are you going to comply, or call your friends at Nelson and Murdock and drag this shit out?"

The blind attorney and Porky the pig? No, he wouldn't call them, especially because it would alarm Karen. He couldn't bring himself to face her now, not after the way things ended between them the last time they saw each other. He needed to keep this as far away from her as possible. She was the only one left who believed in him. She had to be kept safe from whatever this madness was.

"Okay, alright. I'll talk," Frank agreed. "Just so you know, since you told me the cameras were out, I could have made an elaborate lie about how Donny and I were friends with Larry, the security guard, and that Larry let us in to see this cool new totem that had just been brought in, and that a squad of 8 guys burst through the back door and floored all of us."

Mahoney's eye visibly twitched, realizing his error. "But?"

Frank sighed. "But Donny's a good kid who got dealt a shit hand at birth, and he won't lie to the cops. He's been trying to pay for his grandmother's meds and got in bad with a loan shark who happens to work part time at this museum. Yeah, he's a charity case, and a shit-magnet, but…"

"He had the street sense to call on someone he knew couldn't say no," Brett nodded. "I see…so did one of you also let the squad of men in?"

"No, that last part was true. They did burst in. Took Donny out in an instant. Took me out with the butt of a rifle. I wasn't about to take on 8 guys all with their itchy fingers and hair triggers pointed at my chest. I'm not _that_ fast."

"Evidence says otherwise," Mahoney stated flatly and began scribbling in his notepad.

Frank tried to look sincere strapped to the bed. "Brett, I'm serious. These guys were equipped to take out a lot of people. And they were here to grab whatever that artifact was. Donny and I heard Larry talking over the phone with someone, mentioned it had just been shipped in and was extremely important to guard until morning. And before I blacked out entirely, I saw one of them break the glass of the case it was in."

Mahoney still looked displeased, but the fact that he wasn't talking meant he was thinking, perhaps even doubting whether he should bring Frank in. And that meant whatever Frank was saying was working.

"Christ, Donny and I didn't hit each other and then kill Larry to cover it up. There are no defensive wounds on either of our hands because we were unable to get in one swing." Frank silently hoped his own hand wasn't swollen from the punch he gave Larry. But if it had been, Brett wouldn't still be silent.

Still doubting. Keep going.

Frank opened up his hands. "Test me for cordite. Test my hands. Test Donny's hands. Larry was eventually shot, wasn't he? Those fuckers brought too much ammo not to use it at least once."

Mahoney put up his own hand to silence Frank. "You've already been swabbed. We did it while you were still passed out." He rubbed a hand over his temple again. "Alright. Turns out this case is way above my pay grade. Your story checks out. Whoever came in there was after that artifact. I just want to know why they spared you two."

"I've been asking myself that since I woke up," Frank replied. "They hesitated before their leader knocked me out. They had earpieces, I'm sure of it. Someone on the other line told them not to take us out, and I want to know who that was."

Mahoney wrote a few more notes down and motioned for one of his men to un-cuff him. "The owners are more concerned with who took the artifact than with you. They've decided not to press charges." He struggled to form the next words without sounding bitter. "You…are free to go."

Frank got off the bed and stood up, brushing himself off before turning around and gathering his belongings. A wallet and a pair of keys. Brett could have arrested him on the spot for carrying several unregistered guns and knives, but because he didn't, Frank suspected the hit team cleaned him out while he was unconscious.

"Castle," Brett called out. "Do not go looking for whoever did this. I don't want to hear about another bloody shoot out called in on the radio, you hear me? Homeland can't protect you if you fuck up again. We clear?"

"Crystal," Frank managed an imperceptible smile. "Old dogs can learn new tricks."

"Sure," Brett huffed. "And old habits die easy."

* * *

.

.

.

Thanks, bluesclearskies! Glad you like it so far. Definitely can't wait to write their reunion.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Agent Madani?" Karen looked over the card between her fingers. "This is Karen Page."

The phone crackled and then a voice came through. It must have been a long distance call. Perhaps she was on a satellite phone.

"Ah, Karen. Didn't think I'd hear from you after the hospital."

The hospital. The imagined smell of antiseptic and latex filled her nose, and the terrible scent of fear. The flashback came to her like it was yesterday.

She and Madani were racing down the hallways trying to find his room. It didn't matter that she was running barefoot or that she could have easily contracted a disease from stepping on something sharp. They had just deduced that Billy had framed Frank for the murders of several women who had actually been killed and set as a trap for him to stumble into. When the two of them finally made it to the door, the cop posted at Frank's door, which was normally protocol, was missing. A knot of dread twisted up Karen's rib cage as she heard screams coming from inside the room. She and Madani broke through the door just in time to save that girl who was trying to save Frank, and save Frank from what looked like a lethal needle injection.

"So what is it?"

"Yeah, it's been a while," Karen snapped out of it. "I was hoping you had some information for me."

She sat down on her apartment couch. Papers were spread out over her coffee table and the living room floor. She had considered pinning them to her wall and grabbing a ball of colored yarn, but things had hopefully not gotten that entangled yet, though her instincts nagged otherwise.

"What did Frank do this time?" Madani's tone held a measure of exasperation.

"What? Oh, no, this has nothing to do with Frank. I haven't heard from him since the hospital, actually."

"Ah, I see. Would have thought he was involved. You two are like a bad habit I can't quite shake."

Karen eyeballed a particular vase in her living room window she had never quite managed to throw out. No flowers had been in it for almost two years now, and the water that nourished them had long since evaporated.

Frank was the one who seemed to contact her, not the other way around. So was she a bad habit he couldn't shake? She did have her suspicions about him and Edward working together, and it would be lying not to acknowledge she somewhat hoped they were connected. But being in Frank's life again always meant that a broken heart waited for her at the end of the line. How many more times could she bear it?

Perhaps he wasn't the one with the bad habit.

"Oh," her preoccupied voice managed.

"So what do you need?"

Karen's eyes focused back to her papers. "Right, um, well there's a case I'm working on. It's about a missing persons report. A guy named Edward Drogan. I know he-"

"Wait, I know that name." Madani's voice sounded tight. "That was the name of one of the men on Frank's kill squad. My partner at the time ran all the names we had and we choose to first pursue a man named Gunnar. Never got to Edward."

After another moment, her voice crackled through again. "My records show that his last known occupation was as a body guard to NYC's 'it girl', Olivia Waldaire, through Anvil. He worked for her for three months, then disappeared the first week in August. After that, nothing. How do you know about Edward?"

Karen juggled a few lies in her head before settling on the truth. She didn't think Madani would rat her out to Ellison for keeping Ben's old file, and even if she did, Karen had practically memorized everything in it anyway. She could destroy the evidence taken from The Bulletin if need be.

With a labored sighed, Karen answered, "It was my mentor and partner's last case before he was murdered. I feel like I owe him the courtesy of finishing his last case, especially since I was responsible for his death."

Madani was silent long enough for Karen to wonder if their line had been disconnected. Then, a grim but understanding tone answered.

"Partner was murdered and you feel responsible, huh? It sucks, doesn't it? I wish you luck. I don't know if I can be more help." Her voice sounded rushed to end the call, which made the hairs on the back of Karen's neck prickle.

"Actually, that's the reason why I was calling," Karen scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "I found out about Edward's last known employment through some digging. I've been trying to reach Olivia for three days, to no effect. Her assistant always says she's busy or not available, and I need her to agree to meet with me."

"And what? You were hoping that I could help you half a world away?" Madani chuckled.

"You're part of the CIA, use your secretive magic and force her hand. I don't know how this works. I don't know how to get the attention of Manhattan's richest heiress. As far as she's concerned, I'm just some smutty reporter trying to get the latest scoop."

"As much as it would amuse me to blackmail Olivia Waldaire, CIA won't allow it. I'm sorry. Perhaps you should try your friend, Marci. She's cut from the same cloth. I'm sure she could think of something," Madani offered.

Karen snapped her fingers. "You're right. I didn't think of that," she paused. "Wait, you have a file on Marci?"

"It's part of the job description," Madani stated matter-of-factly. "What, you think I didn't get to where I am without being incredibly thorough?"

"Right," Karen shook her head, as if it should have been obvious.

"Karen..." Madani paused. "I'll level with you. You should know that the CIA believes that all of the men on the assassin team are dead. Every one. After the shit show with Billy Russo, Homeland tracked down the remaining team members, and they were all dead and confirmed dead. This includes Edward. And by some miracle, if he's not, let me just say this: shortly after my partner and I were planning a trip to talk to Gunnar, Rawlins got to him before we got there."

Karen balked. "If Edward were dead, that would be a matter of public record. So the fact that he is not registered anywhere as deceased tells me that something is up. Perhaps all the more reason to get the CIA's manpower behind me on this, Madani. For all you know, he might even be caught up in the Rawlins and Russo network."

A haughty, monosyllabic chuckle traveled through the phone. "CIA may or may not have a list of members of Russo's and Rawlins's network. But if we did, Edward would not be on it."

"What the hell does that…" Karen's voice trailed off and her eyes widened. If the CIA had a list and Madani was confident enough to say Edward wasn't on it _and _can't confirm he's dead…

Holy shit. He was an informant.

"Edward was working with Homeland to take Billy down?"

"He was not, and I can't have any more of my time wasted. I'm sorry I can't help you out more. I hope things work out. Goodbye, Karen."

Karen heard a click and the dial tone start. Her jaw went slack with shock. It was as much a confirmation as any she would probably get from someone in the CIA. And then, just as she moved to disconnect her phone, someone on the other line began to press buttons. A distinguishable ding played through the phone, and then Madani's voice came back.

"Okay, so, now that we're officially off the record, yes, Edward was an informant."

"What did…how did you-"

"Karen, do you want the ins and outs of how the CIA works, or do you want me to brief you on my intel?"

She nestled into her couch cushions, feeling exposed to Big Brother's technological capabilities and, for a moment, seriously considered believing her resident tin foil hat homeless man who lived on the corner of her apartment building.

"Right, sorry. Continue."

"I want to preface that I found out about all of this after I left Homeland and joined CIA. Edward was approached by Billy and offered a job not long after the group got back from being in country as unwitting assassins. Like Gunnar, Edward was paranoid about what they had done and was suspicious of Billy, but he took Billy's offer of employment all the same. Suspecting Billy was dirty - though not knowing exactly how - Edward approached a handler in the CIA and signed on to be a protected informant, only the CIA handler responsible for Edward was corrupt and reported back to Rawlins and Russo. Billy assigned Edward to Olivia to keep him close in New York, no doubt to keep a watchful eye on him. Then, Edward had a weekend off and didn't report back to work the following Monday. NYPD found a body dumped along the Hudson River, actually not far from Hell's Kitchen. The body was torn apart and had been in the water for some time, but all of the limbs we recovered had his DNA on record because of his military career. It was him, Karen."

Karen remained silent for some time. A thousand new questions popped into her head, but first…

"If you know he's dead, why not inform the family and make this public record? Why conceal Edward's death if you've confirmed it?"

Madani hesitated. "Because we only got a partial match. And the CIA and Homeland never deal in partials. The brine water from the Hudson damaged the evidence from the body significantly, along with birds, insects, and bacteria that had been feasting on it for several days. For what it's worth, though, the head that we found, and the remaining teeth in it from what could only be described as a savage beating, were a match to Edward."

"So you're saying there is a chance?" Karen's voice was hopeful.

"I'm saying that Edward is almost certainly dead. But on the off chance he is not, know this: the last time I hunted down one of Frank's team members, someone got to him before I could and killed him. Dead or not, be careful what strings you tug on this spider web, Karen. You don't know what - or who - you'll attract the attention of."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Frank eagerly clocked out for lunch and walked across the street to the pizza place. His mind played and replayed the events of the night he was ambushed. The squad of men certainly moved with precision that only training could give, and their gear was professional. All of them were likely former military, but mercenaries worth their salt always were. But that was all that could be uncovered from the encounter. Frank was at a crossroads. He could let sleeping dogs lie and not poke whatever had happened and whoever just orchestrated it, and thank his lucky stars for being alive another day.

Or…

He could investigate.

After a sleepless night of realizing he did not know where to begin to find out who or what was behind the heist, Frank decided to reach out to the one person he knew had the means to answer all questions. They had not spoken in almost two years. God only knew what the man's reaction would be, but Frank doubted it would be welcoming. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his latest burner phone and dialed a number. At first, no one picked up. Frank tried again, getting impatient.

The dial tone ceased and a static noise answered.

"Hello?"

"Lieberman, it's me." Frank kept his voice at a low enough register that nothing would be heard in the noisy pizza shop. He got in line and waited for his turn to order.

"Frank?"

The voice sounded doubtful and shocked.

"Yeah," he stated ruefully. "Look, I'm sorry to-"

"Where the hell have you been?! I mean I get you have your whole business to attend to, but would it kill you to send us a message or come over at least once a year so we know you're still alive? I mean shit, Leo was heartbroken for 6 months."

Micro's voice pounded into Frank's ear so loudly that for a moment he had to pull the burner away from his ear.

Such accusations thrown his way made Frank's temper flare for a moment before he realized all Micro was trying to get across what that they missed him. A family of people actually missed him.

Frank's heart tugged and he swallowed. "I'm sorry. But I can't risk having people think I have friends. If my enemies knew about you and your family…"

Micro sighed long and deep on the other end.

"Yeah, I get it. I had to ghost my own family for a whole year. The need to keep them in the dark consumed me to a point where eventually I woke up and realized that it became a job. Wake up, eat, scheme how to take down my enemies, sleep. Instead of my life in that self-imprisoned warehouse being abnormal, it became the norm. The routine of it all practically turned me into a machine. But let me tell you, Frank. You're no machine. Don't turn into one. Don't be a stranger."

"You had a family to worry about. Mine was already murdered by the time I became who I am. There was no one left to go home to for me. It's different." Frank's eyebrows knitted together as he hastily motioned to the pizza on the menu he wanted.

There was no way Lieberman thought they were all that similar. Lieberman was fighting for his life to return to normal. He was lucky enough to have that choice. Frank didn't. The only path was revenge. It was what kept him alive. And now that no more strings were attached after he shot Billy, justice for others.

"So you're telling me you think you have no family left alive?"

Micro's tone of insolence irked him.

"Pretty sure I can show you a few headstones in a cemetery that prove it," he said flatly.

"Then who are Curt, Karen, and me and my family to you? We're just people you had the misfortune of tripping over in your quest for murderous retribution?"

Frank inhaled to deliver a sharp dismissal but couldn't find the words to refute that statement, other than, "I…you know that's not true."

Maybe it was. He wasn't exactly involved in any of their lives unless it had something to do with an enemy he was taking down, and if any one of them voluntarily, or sometimes involuntarily, helped him in doing it.

"Whether you like it or not, Frank, you have family here. It's why you're trying so hard to distance yourself from us. Your last family died. You're not about to let this one die, too."

"It's not just that, Lieberman," his voice felt thick in his throat, "I _was _the reason they were killed. My involvement in Operation Cerberus is what got them killed. I'm not letting anyone associate any of you with me. I can't afford to let that happen again."

Micro chuckled, making Frank even more irritated.

"Cat's out of the bag on that one, buddy. The higher ups in the NSA know after I was promoted and the circumstances under which that happened. Homeland knows because they arranged your exoneration. The CIA knows because those fuckers started it. And anyone on the internet who is worth a damn knows you rescue Karen on command."

"Stop," Frank felt his fists clench as he reached into his pocket and found change to pay for the pizza. Mentioning Karen instantly inflamed his nerves. Mentioning that people knew Karen could summon The Punisher when in danger was even worse.

He grabbed the freshly made pizza, suddenly unappetizing, and managed to maneuver to a small bench seat next to the door. He ungracefully dropped into it.

"Look, I called because I need your help. I don't need to hear a goddamn lecture on how to live my life. I made my decision. Either live with it or cut me out entirely. Your call."

Micro didn't answer. Instead, he moved the conversation along.

"What do you need?"

"I got tangled up in helping someone out, and it didn't end well."

"Since when do you need help dealing with a problem?"

"Since we got ambushed by men who weren't even supposed to be there. My friend and I were at this museum a few nights ago, and we were there to rough up this security guard, but these hit men came in all of a sudden -"

_"_And stole a priceless artifact," Micro finished.

Frank's eyebrows raised. The silence must have given away his surprise because Micro let out a half-hearted chuckle.

"Yeah, the heist has caused a lot of chatter on the dark web the past few days, and believe it or not some important people at the NSA here were really hoping to go see it."

"See what?"

"A Tequesta tribal totem of some kind. They were the native inhabitants of the Miami area. A Spanish mission was built there and Jesuits tried to convert them. It didn't go over well, and the area was abandoned a year later. Skirmishes and smallpox had killed most of the natives, so the Spanish collected a lot of their things. Word has it that a ship full of Tequesta belongings was returning to Spain, but it never made it through the Bermuda Triangle. Untold amounts of artifacts were on board, and rumors of Spanish gold meant to fund the missionaries for another half year, though it was never accounted for, but until now no one had ever found anything. Half of the dark web is freaking out trying to find out who will buy this totem on the black market, and the other half is trying to find out the location of the shipwreck so they can poach the cargo."

"All this fuss for a Native American totem?" Frank shook his head.

"Yeah, some diving instructor in Miami found it and reported the artifact to the Florida State Historic Preservation Officer. Arrangements were being made for transport so it could be authenticated. Someone pulled a lot of strings to have it authenticated here in New York, but we do have the best curatorial technicians in the country. The heist unfortunately happened before that was possible."

Frank felt his chest compress.

Florida. Miami. Diving instructor.

It couldn't be…

He drew in a ragged breath and whispered, "Got a name for the instructor who found it?"

Micro hemmed for a moment - the sound when someone was pulling something up on a computer screen.

"Yeah, he's a diving instructor out of Miami. Looks like he's a treasure hunter on the side, but a noble one. Never keeps the treasures to himself. He's found a few minor things in the past, but nothing of this magnitude. Locals jokingly call him Scuba Joe."

Frank felt his body sag slowly into his seat, concern weighing him down like a heavy burden to bear. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, the part of him that used to be Catholic praying for their safety.

"I know him. _And _one of his annoying students," he rubbed his temples. "I sent her to him last year because I thought she would be safe learning at his diving school. Turns out trouble follows her all the same," he chuckled dryly. "Guess we have that in common."

"Frank…" Micro's voice sounded low and ominous, "It says here he no longer works for the diving school and hasn't since 2016…"

Panic crept up Frank's spine and he jolted up from the table and made it outside in three strides, ignoring the stares he received from other patrons as they tried to eat their lunch. A thousand questions all at once entered his mind.

Joe leaving the diving school in 2016 was two years before he had met Amy. Why didn't Joe say he didn't work at the diving school anymore? Was Amy okay? Did she even make it to Miami? Joe knew she was coming, so why didn't he call Frank to tell him she never showed? Did she not like it there and leave? What if her trail was cold by now and he couldn't find where she'd gone to, even to make sure that at least she was alive? God, what if she was dead? What if she had been dead this whole past year while he'd been dicking around trying to move on with his life?

"I have to go, Lieberman."

Frank's tone must have sounded frantic because Micro rushed out the next few words.

"Frank, wait, hang on. I…"

Micro hesitated.

"Jesus, Lieberman. Now isn't the time to hold back. What is it?"

"While we were talking, I ran a search on who has been sniffing around your life. I only took a peek because you called, which habitually means the shit is about to hit the fan, and…It looks like someone has been trying very hard to search for where you live and work."

A wave of coolness washed over Frank. It heightened his senses tenfold and made everything and everyone around him move at half speed. He was no longer worried, no longer in a proto-panic state of exasperation at trying to keep those he loved out of harm's way, no matter how fruitless it seemed. He was calm. Serene, even. It was a familiar feeling, one that he gratefully relaxed into.

Battle mode.

"And they're not searching for a Pete Castiglione. They're searching your real name. I can't seem to trace the IP address, but any black hat worth his or her salt can out run my equipment, especially if its eastern European made. Mine is outdated, and budget cuts haven't been kind to my office. You best be on alert, Frank. Trouble is coming."

Frank's jaw tightened with determination. "I'll be ready."

* * *

Karen felt exhausted after spending the previous day with Marci. She sprawled out on her couch, stretching out her legs and reliving how truly amazing it had been to walk the grounds with the bride-to-be. Some small part of her still felt like the poor, starving reporter barely making ends meet looking through a keyhole at the life of the rich and glamorous. Sipping on her mug of coffee, Karen recounted the previous day's experience with relish.

Most of the preparations had been made at the country club, but knowing Marci, she had to inspect every inch of the place as it was gearing up for her wedding. It was in a week, after all. The venue was truly breathtaking. Straight out of a movie. A small chapel was on the grounds that would only fit about 75 total people inside. It looked quite old, but freshly painted and well kept. The landscaping was tightly manicured, and the view was unbelievable. But then, The Hamptons were always beautiful this time of year.

"Can you believe it's almost in a week?" Marci clasped her hands in barely contained excitement.

Karen let out a breath. It was all so overwhelming and she wasn't even the bride. "Yeah, you've truly outdone yourself."

"Everything looks set. I just hope that no one causes a scene. The Atherton twins are notorious for stirring the pot at big events."

Karen quickly thought to make a placating comment when she realized Marci hardly looked worried and more like she expected it. Like she might even be offended if it didn't happen. Like it was practically tradition for a certain amount of drama to occur at one's wedding in order for it to be considered an occasion worthy of getting dressed up for.

_The other half lives well enough to think of drama as sport - a fun past time like a board game. _

Karen shuddered and smiled. "I'm sure everything will work out."

Marci nodded. "Yes, I agree," then, with a little mischief, "Now, onto _your _dilemma."

They moved into the chapel where they would be afforded more privacy away from the people setting up.

"I can send word to Olivia as soon as we are done here, although I have to confess I feel morally obligated to tell Foggy what you are doing. And, of course, he will tell Matt."

Karen's stomach knotted. "Why tell them? Why can't this stay between you and me?"

Marci gave her a trained smile - a hollow gesture. "There's a difference between helping a friend out with her girl trouble, and helping a friend unearth something potentially life threatening."

"Life threatening?" Karen balked. "How is trying to reach Olivia Waldaire a threat to my life?"

She took both of Karen's hands into her own and made an uncomfortable amount of eye contact to make her point. "Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way." She blinked a few times. "You have a death wish."

Karen jerked her hands back to her sides. "I do _not_. I just want to figure out the truth and find Edward, alive or dead."

Marci scoffed. "Yeah, because the last time you tried to understand a special forces Marine turned out to be a healthy life choice for you."

She had no retort for that. Denying it would just make her look that much more stupid in Marci's eyes, and they were just now getting along so well.

"Look," Marci's tone softened. "Nothing in this world seems like just a coincidence anymore. Especially with you and Foggy and Matt. With Foggy, it's taking on hopeless cases and fluttering around to Matt's aid. With Matt, well. We all know _his _story."

Karen was stunned for a moment. "Wait…you…?"

"Know about Matt's little secret? Yeah," she shrugged with a sparkle in her eye - an eye that had a lifetime of practice seeing through drama and deception. "Foggy almost disclosed it to me in an emotional tirade. He thought he was being clever by cutting himself off before it was too late, but I can put two and two together. No one makes him that mad like Matt does when he's out risking his life to save strangers. Plus," she settled more into her seat, "I'd had my suspicions for a while."

"Wow," was all Karen could manage.

"What can I say? You don't survive living with piranhas growing up and not see plainly through charades." Her eyes then sparkled with new interest. "Which brings me to my next point: with you these past few years, it's bad habits like Frank Castle."

_Again, bad habits._

"So how long are you going to play this little charade before you just call him up? I mean Madani confirmed he and Edward got tangled up with the Blacksmith and Billy in Operation Cerberus, and that Edward got tangled up again with Billy once he was stateside. It seems to me that a lot of your problems would be solved if you could muster up some lady balls, bypass this whole song and dance, and go to the direct source."

Karen waved her hands in a dismissing gesture. "No, this is more complicated than that. And I don't exactly have his number, anyway. I'm sure he's buying burner phones."

"I see. And has a source who was hard to track down ever stopped you before?" Marci asked politely enough to take the sting out of her comment.

Karen felt her cheeks flush. "Well, no. But I'm trying to respect his privacy. He made things clear the last time I saw him." Karen tried to conceal the hurt from her voice, but nothing got passed Marci.

The bride looked away for a moment, her expression wistful. "Men always seem to think that keeping those who they care about at bay from learning the horrible truths of the world is their only option. The good ones do it out of protection. The bad ones do it because they feed off the lie." She then turned back to Karen. "And the tortured ones do it because they believe they have no other choice."

Karen let out a defeated smirk. "Foggy told you what I said, huh."

"I am no one to judge," she reached out. "Look at the company I keep. Look at the fiancee I chose: a man with the largest Messiah complex in the world. A man who thinks he can save even _Daredevil_, the patron saint of feeling responsible for saving everyone. But look at Frank's deeds, not his words. He may have outright refused you in his life, but look at how that's worked out so far. I mean, Jesus," she laughed, and it sounded genuine, "It seems like every time something bad happens to you or to him, you both get intertwined in each others' lives, willingly or not. Talk about not believing in coincidences anymore. The universe is orchestrating life-threatening scenarios in order to get you both in the same room and realize you're meant for each other because knocking your heads together with mundane opportunities to connect isn't working."

"Like refusing to track him down?" Karen's stomach fluttered at the thought.

Marci gestured like it was plain as day. "Fate is twisting itself into knots to get you both in a room, and yet you beat around the bush with _Olivia_?"

"Look, I will contact him if I need it. But right now I am trying to move on with my life. I just need to do this one last thing for Ben and then start a new chapter," Karen stated in her best forceful voice.

This time Marci's laugh sounded sharp and condescending. "What, like you're worried Ben's soul won't rest easy until you've solved his case? He's dead, Karen. Almost four years now. It seems more like you're worried about putting your own mind at ease and that somehow solving this case will earn you points in Purgatory."

Karen put her hands up in submission, too aggravated to continue this line of discussion. "Christ, can you turn off your litigator mode for five minutes? I can't win with you."

Marci took a breath. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know that's a touchy subject. And I can be…"

"Pushy? Snarky?" Karen offered.

"I was going to say a bitch, but sure, let's go with your watered down version," she grabbed her hands again. "C'mon. It's getting hot. I'll make the phone call and you can get as far away from me as desperately as you want to right now."

Karen laughed, "Thanks, you read my mind. Oh, and Marci? Are you sure Olivia will call me? What if she's mad that I stooped low enough to contact you to reach her?"

Without skipping a beat, her predatory lady lawyer smile turned into the most innocent expression. "Why, Karen, why ever would you think anyone could refuse the bride what she wants a week before her very wedding?"

Back in her apartment, stretched out on the sofa a day later, Karen got up and refilled her coffee. It was somewhat of a double-edged sword having such a she-wolf as a friend. Despite herself, Karen still hoped they would become close friends. Eventually. And after a few more martinis and drunken nights bonding over their disturbing pathology of trying to save the souls of vigilantes.

Karen groaned.

_What a terrible fate._

Her phone suddenly vibrated on the counter as she was opening her fridge for more creamer. Peeking over to look at the screen, it was the same number as Olivia's assistant. This was the first time her assistant actually reached out. Perhaps playing the Marci card worked.

The text was brief. It was a time and place to meet, and Karen was surprised at the location.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The old saying goes 'no news is good news', but the next day Frank could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. Four combat tours and countless stateside kills enhanced his ability to sense danger. It was practically a sixth sense by now. That's why he and a handful of other men were cherry picked from the top units in each branch of the military to become a team of assassins, if unwitting.

But even an idiot would have known that stumbling onto something this big meant bad things were coming. It was just a matter of time. If those hit men didn't already recognize Frank from his trial three years ago, then their employer in their earpieces sure as hell did. He wasn't a man to toot his own horn, but based on the evidence of how good he was at killing, Frank knew he was too dangerous for the orchestrating hand behind the curtain of this fiasco to keep alive.

He knew they would come. _They_, because sending one person to kill him was child's play. Then again, so are groups of them if Frank's prepared for it. And, if they were searching who he was and where he had been lately, then they were watching. Waiting. And waiting meant planning, no doubt for the opportune moment to strike.

Yet despite all of this, Frank went about his business like everything was normal. Although, in secret during after hours, he would always make sure to stock up on several choice knives, unregistered firearms, and his new favorite now that he worked in an auto repair shop: chemicals.

Friday night approached. Miguel and the others had clocked out about an hour ago, but not before inviting everyone down to his house again. Frank politely declined, stating he needed to catch up on some paperwork for a few cars in the shop. Something about tonight made Frank feel like the other side was going to be ready. There was no point in leaving to his apartment. Too many innocent bodies that could become collateral damage. No, he wouldn't go home tonight. He would stay at the shop and wait for them to come to him. Once they broke into his apartment and realized he wasn't there, they would come looking for him here. And he would be ready.

Better to control the field and set up shop literally in the shop. There were plenty of tools hanging on the walls he could use to bludgeon the men, plenty of knives Frank had hidden, and a few guns. But a new opportunity arose now that he worked out of a repair shop.

Frank checked the clipboards of each of the cars his coworkers had been working on until he found the one he was looking for.

_'79 Chevy_

_Faulty AC_

_Check refrigerant_

Smiling, he walked across the room, clicked the remote to close the large metal garage doors, and pad-locked them shut for the night. Moving to the back door, he loosened the handle just enough to create a serious problem if someone tried to open it from the inside, say, to escape. Rigging the door to slam shut and lock only took another ten minutes. Then he jogged upstairs to retrieve the gas mask and portable oxygen tank he kept in his locker behind a false back. Descending the stairs with all of his gear on, and also making a point of wearing all black, Frank finally picked up the keys to the Chevy.

Turning the engine on, he then crouched underneath the car, popped the cap open, and began to slowly drain the freon from its compartment. Standing up, he grabbed a refill container of freon from one of the locked cabinets in the back and popped the hood open. Before all of the freon drained from under the truck and into a pan, Frank tipped the refill freon container enough to fill up the compartment under the hood while it was draining out underneath.

With any luck, the combustion of the engine and faulty AC were causing the freon to turn into phosgene gas by now. Frank blasted the air in the car and rolled down all the windows to circulate the toxic gas around the entire shop. A few more containers of freon to continue refilling the compartment while it drained, and the place would fill with a lethal amount of the gas. Anyone not wearing a gas mask would suffocate in under a minute since it would displace almost all the oxygen.

A dark smirk crept up Frank's face. There was a reason this gas was deadlier than chlorine gas, though both were used in WWI.

With his trap set, he turned out the lights, ascended the stairs to the second floor once more, found a perch for his rifle that pointed straight at the back door, and patiently waited.

To their credit, they didn't take long.

* * *

Karen awkwardly sat on the most beautifully adorned chair as one of the maids brought freshly brewed tea into the parlor room. The Waldaires had one of their summer homes in Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island, two hours away from Hell's Kitchen by car. The massive house and the grounds of the entire estate were well kept by a slew of gardeners, housekeepers, maids, personal valets, and chauffeurs. The rooms were extensively decorated with intricately designed woodwork, plush cushions, and thick curtains, all of which were coordinated in an earth-tone color: rich golds, deep reds, forest greens, and ocean blues. Yet nothing quite matched since different things had been replaced over the years, while other furniture had survived and been passed down for generations.

Karen could tell that this was a family showcasing their old money, a display that was as effortless as it was a clear statement of their power.

"I'm terribly sorry to keep you waiting, and especially at such a late hour," Olivia spoke as she reached for a cup of tea while a large man stood by her side as she sat on one of the three couches. "Thank you, Smith, that will be all."

After a moment under the large man's unwavering glower, he nodded and walked out of the room. Karen felt her heart beat begin to calm as the hulking figure gently closed the door.

Olivia was breathtaking. Long brown curls draped over one of her shoulders seemed to mold perfectly into the curve of the classic sweet heart neckline dress she wore. The pinched waist and pleated skirt of the dress accentuated her lithe frame and gorgeous physique. Karen couldn't help but gawk at this lovely creature, no doubt a product of over a hundred years of careful pedigree.

Even behind that pretty dress and jewelry Karen could recognize the young woman was sharp. She affected a pleasant demeanor, but make no mistake, those eyes were calculating every second of their interaction.

"It's no problem," Karen managed to answer.

Olivia shook her head. "No, it is. I kept you waiting for almost an hour, and I'm sorry for that. My assistant got the times mixed up and I had to cancel an appearance at a friend's art show to make it back in time to see you."

Karen reached for her own cup. "Is that common for your assistant to confuse things in your schedule?" She had wondered whether or not this was Olivia blowing her off yet again and felt a right to be suspicious.

Olivia shrugged and took a sip. "Not usually, but the past month or so my mother has been working on one of her projects and has been double-dipping using my assistant to help her. It's fine. I'm sure it will not happen again."

"Oh, neat. I read she was working on something philanthropic in the paper the other day," Karen offered, hoping she could learn more about anything that could be divulged and at the same time attempt to ingratiate herself.

Olivia chuckled dryly. "Yes, my mother is a bit strung out these days. But no, not the partnership with Bill and Melinda Gates. She's currently working on something else. Some pet project she won't even tell me about."

"Ah, I see." Karen felt the conversation stagnate. "So I'm going to ask you some questions about the disappearance of Edward Drogan, okay?"

"Right to it, then," she smiled.

Karen reached for her pen and notepad. "So Edward worked for you as a bodyguard during the summer of 2015. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember the week of his disappearance?"

"Yes," Olivia nodded, filling up her cup. "We had arrived back home after a few days in Italy and the weekend was approaching. I rotate out my men every week so that they can have a few days off before returning. We were all exhausted from attending the Grand Prix and I planned to stay at one of our homes in Chelsea. I'm fairly certain I slept through almost the whole weekend. I gave Eddie the time off he requested and he left. When he didn't show up on Monday, I thought it had something to do with his investigation."

Karen frowned. "Investigation?"

"Well, he had clearly been preoccupied with something since he had started working for me. I caught him a few times organizing papers into different piles in his hotel room floor. He was amassing something big."

"And you never thought to ask him what it was?" Karen questioned.

Olivia's posture straightened slightly - a sign of unease and defensiveness. "Honestly, it didn't matter to me what went on in his personal life. What mattered was showing up to work on time. And in the weeks leading up to the Grand Prix, he had become distracted."

Karen shifted the topic. Clearly she wasn't going to get any more answers following this line of questions. "Tell me about how Edward got hired as one of your bodyguards."

"Ah, well. My father has hired from Anvil before. An off-chute of mercenary work is becoming employed as a bodyguard. Edward came personally recommended by the founder of the organization." She shifted in her seat. "I hope you know that all of the City's socialites hired from Anvil and not just my family."

"Of course," Karen agreed amiably, not wanting to give the impression that she thought the Waldaires were in bed with Billy, although Karen made a mental note that Olivia made a point to assure the innocence of the family name. "Do you know why Edward was so highly recommended?"

"Something was certainly off about the circumstances of his hiring," Olivia ruminated, taking another sip of tea. "The founder of Anvil…what was his name…"

"Billy Russo," Karen answered.

Olivia smiled with piqued interest. "_Billy_? Were you on a familiar basis with him? He introduced himself as William Russo and thereafter was always addressed as Mr. Russo."

Karen felt her misstep in their tango and thought quickly to recover. "Not a familiar basis, no. But you could say his reputation preceded him."

"Ah," Olivia clicked her tongue in recognition. "Another woman with taste. He certainly was easy on the eyes, although there was a…predatory streak in him that warned off sensible women. Not that he wasn't fun to play with," her eyes wandered off to a point in the distance. Then they flicked back to Karen who sat in stunned silence for a moment.

"You openly admit to having relations with Billy Russo?" Karen stated in somewhat disbelief.

Even Olivia's laugh was beautiful. "Miss Page, I know my family certainly decorates like we're still in Victorian England, but I can assure you we do not limit ourselves to 19th century lifestyles. Besides, half of all aging debutantes in New York somehow stumbled into his bed every weekend. The man had an insatiable appetite."

"Then why do you disclose information that could be published in the wrong hands? Why do you toy with your legacy and the family reputation?" Karen asked.

"Oh, it was a bit of fun," she shrugged it off like any other normal thing someone would do. "And fleeting at that, anyway. Once you reach the top of society, you don't play by anyone's rules but your own, but I was no fool. And I did my homework," she nodded. "You championed The Punisher as a decent man, even as the nation tore itself apart between those who wanted to personally execute him and those who wanted to award him a medal. It takes a certain kind of internal focus and an unwavering moral compass to do what you did. So I doubt you would lower yourself to exploit a tasty but ultimately worthless piece of information I divulged to you. But I guess what you do with this tiny morsel is up to you."

Karen's stomach turned. No one else knew about this, otherwise it would have made front-page news by now, so if Karen did mention it to a journalist, Olivia would know it was her. The heiress was testing her to see if she measured up. In fact, Olivia was so confident that Karen wouldn't go to the press that she risked scandal, not that it apparently meant much to her.

"Alright," Karen smiled, determined to continue letting Olivia think she hadn't slipped already. "What was off about his hiring?"

"The two of them stepped cautiously around each other, which made me think that they actually didn't trust one another. Odd for two men whose sales pitch to me was the fact that both could vouch for the other's loyalty as a fellow brother-in-arms."

"And you never approached Edward about this?"

"No, this also seemed personal. And like I said, it didn't matter to me what happened in their personal lives so long as they showed up for work."

"Interesting," Karen hummed and sat back in her seat. Now was the time to strike. Olivia outplayed her hand. The heiress now looked mildly annoyed at Karen's comment.

"Interesting?"

"Yes. You've mentioned twice now that something personal was up with Edward, once when telling me about an investigation he was working on, and again when telling me about his suspicious behavior around Mr. Russo. Clearly a slip of the tongue, or I would have assumed that you had thought this through already and come to the conclusion that these events were connected."

Olivia blinked, failing to come up with a smooth retort.

"Second, you seem like a formidable woman, one who wouldn't leave the fate of your life in anyone else's hands but your own. So I find it hard to believe that you wouldn't care what was happening in your men's personal lives. At best, it paints you as careless. At worst, you seem ignorant and incapable, which is something I highly doubt you really are.

"And lastly," Karen continued, watching Olivia's expression harden somewhere in between impressed and trapped, "When you first walked in, you addressed your bodyguard by his last name, Smith. Quite formal. And yet, early on you slipped and called Edward 'Eddie' when first mentioning the Grand Prix, which leads me to wonder if you were on a familiar basis with Edward, or perhaps something more, as with Mr. Russo? If I dig into your relationship with Edward, will I find something? Then again, I guess you already know the answer since I was the sole reporter who uncovered the truth about The Punisher."

Olivia's mouth clenched for a moment before she relaxed into the couch once more. To her credit, she smiled, if begrudgingly. "Marci was right about you. Sharp as a tack." She tapped her tea cup several times, and Karen could practically see the cogs in her brain turn with each calculation. "Alright, Miss Page. Can I assure you will not drag my name through the mud on this? Can I count on your maintaining your honorable reputation?"

Karen noticed the veiled concern behind her expression, though it was expertly concealed. "You know the kind of reporter I am. I'm only interested in finding the truth. I don't care if you were sleeping with him, too."

The heiress looked around the room. At first, Karen thought she was making sure no one else was present to overhear what was coming next, but then Karen realized she was staring at each photograph and oiled painting on every wall on the room, as if being scrutinized by generations of family ancestors interminably judging her every move. Olivia's gaze finally felt to her lap and her shoulders sank slightly.

"I appreciate your honesty. To reciprocate, I will speak plainly. I honestly don't know what happened to him." Her eyes closed for a moment, then fixed on Karen. The pain in them was evident. "Eddie and I-"

"Olivia, I didn't know we were expecting company," a voice entered the room.

Her face shot up and her posture straightened instantly.

"Mother," Olivia breathed. "I thought you were in Miami."

"I was, but there has been a setback at the office. I should be leaving tomorrow."

Karen rose and extended her hand to greet the matriarch of the family. Impeccably dressed in an all black pant suit with a string of pearls and a tightly cropped bob of white hair, and striking blue eyes, the woman put Marci's she-wolf aura to shame. A perfect set of teeth smiled back at her.

"Pleasure," the mother cut off the introduction and barely noticed Karen. "Olivia, what did I say about wearing that dress? It was in last year's catalog. You do have millions of followers on social media, don't you? I get that recycling is good for the environment, but we wouldn't want to look last season, dear. We have an image to upkeep."

"Of course, mother," Olivia stated in a practiced voice.

"And you are?"

"This is Karen Page," Olivia answered. "She's working to find out more about Edward Drogan's disappearance."

The mother frowned. "Who?"

"One of Olivia's bodyguards who went missing in August 2015," Karen replied.

"Ah, you're a reporter," the mother stated with barely contained disdain. "Well I'm afraid we know nothing about it. Sorry to disappoint."

Karen noticed the mother had imperceptibly moved in between her and Olivia, as if blocking any other conversation and ending the interaction.

"Mother, for once in your life, will you stop micromanaging and let me handle this?" Olivia broke character and stood.

The she-wolf never took her eyes off Karen. "No, I don't think this reporter is-"

Her cell phone rang out and she answered it gruffly.

"Yes, who is it?…What?…I see…so you've failed me again? I can't trust you to do anything right, can I? Well I'll just have to handle this myself," The mother hastily put her phone in her purse. "A situation at work came up."

Without saying goodbye, she began to exit. "Miss Page, is it? I presume you'll see yourself out now." She took extra care to stare intentionally at her daughter and then shut the door.

For a moment, Karen and Olivia stood there, struck by the whirlwind of the matriarch. Then the heiress started toward the door.

"Please, wait," Karen moved in between her and escape. "I can't leave here without knowing what you know. If it will help me find out what happened to Edward, I will not stop."

Olivia sighed, contemplating for a moment how much to say. "Miss Page, it seems you have an affinity for trying to save people who do not want to be saved."

Karen was struck by that comment. Olivia did not fail to notice and continued.

"I see it now. First it was with Frank Castle and his circus of a trial, and now with Eddie's disappearance. Yes, we were…close. But like your relationship to Frank Castle, that would be a vast understatement, wouldn't it?" Olivia's gaze was as knowing as it was stricken, "Mr. Russo was fleeting, but Eddie was…" Her face contorted for a moment and it was then that Karen realized she'd been practically suffocating herself to stay composed. Only one strangled breath came out as she regained control with magnificent effort. "Perhaps you an I have that affinity in common."

Karen felt her heart yank inside her chest.

Olivia reached for a napkin and blotted her eyes. "In the end, it didn't matter what I wanted. All that mattered was his vengeance, and he didn't love me enough to want to change."

"Vengeance against whom?" Karen pressed, ignoring the similar pangs of rejection she felt a year ago.

"I don't know. He pushed me away every time. Said he couldn't bear the thought of my life being in danger if I knew about what he was investigating. All I know is it had something to do with Mr. Russo. That much was obvious."

Karen nodded ruefully and squeezed her forearm. "Thank you."

Olivia swallowed, inhaled, and met her gaze with restrained coolness. "Please keep me apprised, Miss Page. I know it's…foolish to lean on false hope, especially after all these years. But he was everything to me once."

* * *

Finally within the safety of her cramped apartment, Karen managed to relax and pop open a beer. At the kitchen counter, she mused on what to do next. Calling Madani to implore her to investigate deeper into what Edward was unraveling could work, but that might be a card best played when there were no other options.

All she really had was Olivia's guess that Edward and Billy were at odds, but no physical evidence, and certainly nothing concrete. It was purely hearsay and unconfirmed information; less than nothing when trying to convince a CIA agent to dig deeper.

She bit her lip in thought.

If there was just a way she could retrace his steps somehow. Find out where he was last seen.

And then it hit her. There might be someone who could tell her Edward's last movements before he disappeared.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Frank stayed completely motionless atop his perch. Patience was all part of the training, and the longest he'd gone without moving an inch was three days. At night when they got especially bored waiting for their target, he and Billy would often argue in a whisper about the most mundane things. Boxers or briefs. Which way to rack toilet paper. Playing fuck marry kill using the rest of the guys in their unit as the only options. How badly they wanted to get laid.

He remembered it fondly. Snipers always came in pairs, after all, and the company kept him from going insane. Now, being on his own, Frank missed the fun they managed to have in the desolate areas they were placed. Camaraderie. Brotherhood. Deep and abiding love. The safety of knowing someone always had his back, no questions asked, no conditions.

Now he only felt that with Curt, and even Curt was slowly pushing Frank away ever since he settled down with his girlfriend. Apparently helping Frank out a year ago nearly ended the relationship before it began, but Curt was determined to get this girl.

Although…there was one other.

Karen.

Frank clenched his jaw, trying to focus on quadruple-checking the range on his rifle. If there was ever a way to describe how he felt about her, it would still fall utterly short. Words would always fall utterly short. Then again, they never needed words to understand one another. That's what terrified him.

And now that Micro pointed out that he would save Karen on command, he was even more scared of what could happen to her. Frank grew up in the last years of the analog era. The internet was a foreign beast to him. But he did understand that there were creeps on the internet, and it made his trigger finger itch.

Considering he had underestimated what a person behind a keyboard was capable of accomplishing last time with Lewis, Frank all the more wanted to find a way to keep Karen safe. But the more he thought about intervening, the more helpless he felt. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Involving himself in her world permanently would paint a target on her back, if there weren't already one. And removing himself from her life entirely would mean it was open season for pervs who wanted to provoke him by kidnapping her, or worse.

But then the hairs on the back of his neck rose and a sharp awareness of his surroundings shocked him into a heightened state. In the same moment, men burst into the building from the back door, two by two, clearing the place with precision. Within a few seconds, the breachers began to choke and gasp, grasping their throats and frantically searching for the exit.

Frank pulled a wire and the back door slammed shut. Two men in the rear started choking and grabbed the handle, but it fell off. The total of ten men began banging on the back door, some of them firing sporadically, as if hoping to shoot the unseen sniper in the rafters. Slowly, they gagged, collapsed, and convulsed.

Within 30 seconds, all lay still.

Frank remained for another 15 minutes before descending. He began looting their bodies for weapons, ammunition, and gear for any form of identification. As he suspected, none of them had IDs on them. Unmasking one by one, he didn't recognize them either. Inspecting them further, he noted that a few had personalized Kabar knives, deducing they were likely Marines once.

Suddenly, the backdoor was kicked open wide enough for a live grenade to tumble to his feet. Reflexively, Frank grabbed it.

He wouldn't make it outside in time to throw it out. The only other option was to fling it as far away from him as the inside of the shop would allow. Problem was, everything in here was flammable. Dirty oil parts, tanks of oil changes that needed to be transported out, the Chevy truck that was still running.

Frank ran to the Chevy and flung the grenade inside the car and slammed the door shut. It was made of steel and would take the brunt of the explosion and shrapnel. Trying to get out once the truck and everything else was set on fire was step two. Sprinting across the room, he crashed through the windowed office of his boss and covered his vitals behind the wall.

The explosions were deafening. First the grenade blew, then the car blew its top off and the engine block straight through the corrugated steel sliding door to the garage. Other car parts and oil instantly caught fire, and the flames quickly raced across the floor to the office. Frank crawled behind the thick oak desk and glanced out through the shattered window. A barrage of shots were fired in response.

Five more men closed in on him, covering a few more men with suppressive fire as they all formed into position. From the back panel of the desk, there was enough room for Frank to see their approach. Reaching for his handgun, he poked the barrel through the gap between the back panel and the floor and began shooting at their feet.

Three screamed out in pain and stumbled back. The rest retreated to the hallway, unable to shoot through the solid oak desk fast enough. Frank took one last deep breath and ripped off his mask and oxygen tank. He threw them into the hallway and lifted himself up, firing straight into the tank. The hallway erupted into an explosion, and the remaining men were killed by the blast radius and percussion wave.

Winded, Frank drew in a ragged breath and began choking. The garage was now becoming a firestorm, and all of the air inside was fueling the fire. He would suffocate if he didn't move fast. Using every ounce of remaining adrenaline, he charged out of the garage through the front where the engine block had torn a large hole and ran for the cover across the street, half expecting to hear more shots fired behind him in pursuit. But nothing followed him. The fire was so blinding and growing so quickly that it would be dangerous to try and follow one man when anyone who survived would want to regroup first.

He ducked into an alley and crouched for a moment, leaning a hand on the wall as he coughed some more and caught his breath. Somehow, Frank just knew this wasn't all of them. This would no doubt cause a stir for whoever was hiring people to kill him. More would definitely come, especially now that they knew where he worked, and likely his alias, Pete Castiglione.

The smart thing to do would be to disappear. Burn all bridges, go underground, and smoke his enemies out. But just as before, worry crept into his mind for the people he cared about. Shit didn't exactly go according to plan the last few times, so this time he had to do things right. There had to be a way to warn them without physically implicating himself. He was being tracked, after all, and there was no way in hell Frank would let them trace anything back to the only family he had left. But he still needed to warn them of what was coming, because chances were it was coming for all of them.

Whatever the fuck this was.

* * *

A distinct vibration noise startled David into a wakened state. Groping for the nightstand, he picked up his phone and brought it to his face. The bright light blinded him. Grunting, he rubbed the sleep off his eyes and focused on the number. He didn't recognize it.

"Ugh," he rolled out of bed.

Sarah mumbled something incoherent in her sleep but then roused when she felt the bed shift. "Honey?"

"It's nothing, just Frank calling," he waved at her to go back to bed.

She groaned. "Why are you taking his calls? Do you want to bring his shit to our doorstep again?"

David chuckled. "Actually, I brought my shit to his doorstep first, so I guess it's only fair."

She resigned herself to the bed and flung the covers over her head.

He turned back to his phone and answered, "Yeah, what is it?"

"David Lieberman?" a woman's voice answered.

He blinked. "Who is this?"

"My name is Karen Page. I was-"

David's eyes shot open. "Karen. Karen Page? Shit, what happened to Frank? I told him to be careful."

"What?" her voice sounded bewildered. "I haven't heard from Frank in over a year. That's not why I'm…wait. Frank called you?"

David mouthed a curse and smacked his forehead. "Nope, I haven't heard from him either. You know, other than the one time he called asking for information."

To his surprise, she didn't ask what that was. Her lengthy pause did indicate she struggled not to, however.

"I didn't call to talk about Frank," she stated firmly. "He may have been what connected me to find you in the beginning, but it ends there. I'm calling about another matter entirely."

"Alright," he found his way to a chair in the living room. "But let me make this clear. I am a happily married man who is actively returning his life back to normal. You have only one favor to ask, and only because I owe Frank, not you." He reconsidered. "Well, that and I'm pretty sure Frank would actually kill me if I didn't help you."

Another long pause. She started to speak several times, but didn't make it past the first word. Then, finally, she managed to say something.

"There's a man I would like you to track."

"I'm shocked."

"Look, I can send you my information on him. I have his picture and the last place he was employed. It was Anvil, and I have a sneaking suspicion that his disappearance was Billy Russo's doing."

David straightened in his chair, feeling an all too familiar sensation of dread. "Karen...this sounds an awful lot like you're getting into something dangerous. If it has anything to do with Billy Russo, I would steer clear. The man is a year dead, but that doesn't change the fact that his network is still alive and thriving in other areas of the world. The power vacuum of his incapacitation in a psych ward only lasted 6 months before someone big made the operation close ranks and organize once more. Suffice it to say, the torch has already been passed to the next leader."

"I don't care about any of that. All I want to know is what happened to Edward Drogan!" she insisted.

"You'd be a fool not to realize that this is all connected. Tug on one string and several more are revealed. And if you keep following the bread crumbs, you'll get killed. Karen, please don't-" he cut himself off. "Wait. What was the man's name?"

"Edward Drogan," Karen replied in a rushed tone. "I just need to know if you can track his whereabouts the night of August 15, 2015. That was the last night anyone saw him." She hesitated. "There is one other thing…I found out that he worked in the same unit as-"

"Frank Castle," David answered, looking down at his phone. Another person was calling him, and this one was clearly a burner number. David's heart began to pound.

"...Yes, how did you-"

"Karen, I gotta put you on hold," he then answered the other line, half in a state of panic. "Hello?"

"David, it's me," a gravelly tone answered.

"Frank," he inhaled sharply, relieved Frank's voice sounded normal. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Someone is after me, though, and you were right. They tracked me down. Blew up the auto shop I work in. I took care of it, but there will be more. I'm calling because I wanted to give you a fair warning in case they suspect you're helping me. And to make sure you don't help again, this is goodbye. I…" he hesitated, "Well…stay safe."

"Wait!" David shouted - a reflex. He closed his eyes.

_Too late._

It was his for the taking: the bland suburban husband lifestyle, a doting wife, two kids, a white picket fence house, and an upper middle class existence. All he needed to do was recede back into a life of normalcy. The life he desperately and decisively worked to gain back for the better part of a year, now turned to dust. He tried to ignore how a small piece of him was invigorated by that.

"What?"

David sighed.

_To hell with it. _

"I'm on the other line with Karen."

"..._WHAT_."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Frank's silence on the other end seemed to allude impending doom. David just hoped it wasn't going to be directed his way.

"Did...did you not hear me?" he murmured, hoping that delivering such weighted news in a soft tone would somehow also soften the blow.

The continued silence was unbearable. David almost wished he could just decipher Frank's response in person to gauge how bad this was, though he wasn't _that _much of an idiot.

"Frank?"

"_Why_," he whispered with great restraint.

"Why am I on the phone with her, or why is she calling?"

"Jesus Christ, Lieberman, _both_!"

"Right, right," David stood up from the living room chair and began to pace, already feeling his blood pressure rising. "She's calling me because she wants to track someone's last whereabouts. And Frank, you're not gonna like who."

"Tell me, or it's your funeral."

David swallowed. "It's Edward Drogan."

Another excruciating pause.

"..._Eddie_?" Frank's voice sounded like he hadn't heard the name in years.

"Yeah, he was one of the guys who worked with you in Operation Cerberus."

"I know that you dipshit, I was there," Frank growled. "What the fuck is she doing asking about him? Why does she want to know where he is?"

"I don't know, she just called two minutes ago!"

"Well _ASK HER_."

"_ALRIGHT_!" David angrily pushed the hold button. Then, taking a few more breaths, composed himself. "Hello? Karen?"

"It's him, isn't it," Karen stated. "You guessed Frank, cut me off before I could say his name, and then put me on hold. All in the same moment."

"...Yes," David confirmed, the tight knot in his chest somewhat loosening. "And there's something else. I told him you were on the other line."

"What? _Why_?"

"Well, he's concerned about you," David stated like it was obvious.

Karen laughed spitefully. "Right. Here to warn me of the danger I'm placing myself in. Well, you can tell him I am _well aware_ of the situation, and I'm _still _going to find out what happened. With or without your help."

David cringed, already imagining the colorful ways in which Frank would receive this news. "For my sake and his, please don't do this."

"I know why he cares. Why do you?" she asked quizzically.

David slowly lowered himself back into the chair, trying to control his tone down to a calm, rational cadence. "Because I was with him the day you went toe to toe with Lewis. He and I both heard you over the radio speaking to that boy. You came at him again and again, _provoking _him instead of trying to understand his motives."

"He bombed a building in the heart of New York City! People were calling it the next 9/11!" she said defensively.

"It was personal for _everyone _that day!" David shouted, wincing when he realized, and continued in a strained whisper. "Not a _soul _in the City didn't feel _raked open_ that day. But you didn't see Frank's face. You didn't see the anguish it caused him to hear you goad Lewis, taunt him, _humiliate _him. I know Frank's murderous state. This was something much deeper. He was on the ragged edge hunting that boy down to ensure your safety."

"I know," Karen replied more calmly than he expected. "He called me and told me how he was going to take care of it. And I told him not to do it and say it was for me."

David shook his head. "Can't you _see_? He will do _anything _for you. Even derail his and my entire plans to take down the men who murdered his family and ruined my life. Jeopardize everything we worked for. He put his own vengeance aside for you, Karen. For _you_."

"I…" she paused. His words stung.

"He's calling me again," David glanced at his phone. "Please…don't put him through that a second time. If anything happened to you…I think that really would kill him."

David put her on hold once more, wondering if she'd hang up, and answered, "Hey, Frank."

"_Well_? You left me waiting long enough," his voice sounded irritated but also resigned, like he already knew what the answer to his question would be.

David felt his shoulders sink. "I tried my best to convince her, but you know her better than most. What are the chances she'll actually listen to me?"

"Slim to none," Frank sighed.

"Well," David propped his feet up on the ottoman, "I suppose you could try convincing her yourself." He could audibly hear Frank glower at him for suggesting such a thing.

"Are you being intentionally dense, or did you forget that someone has ordered a hit on me?"

"Neither," David chuckled, "She's surprisingly still on hold."

"_What?_"

"Tell her yourself," David motioned to merge the calls.

"Don't!" Frank barked. "Don't you _fucking _do it."

He faltered at Frank's ominous tone, but David's courage rallied. "You know what? No. I'm sick and tired of playing intermediary. You're both adults. Figure it out. This may be your only chance to convince her, or are you mulling over the idea of doing this in person?"

"I…" Frank's voice trailed.

"Didn't think so," David grinned.

Several items crashed over the phone line, along with a slew of swear words.

"_Do it_," he growled begrudgingly.

David cleared his throat. "Karen? It's David…and Frank. He-"

"_Karen_," Frank murmured, his voice sounding half strangled. "I know…" he took in a calming breath. "I know I'm probably delusional in thinking I can convince you to drop a lead. Hell, I probably _am _half mad trying to stop you from solving a case, considering the lengths you will go to. In fact, no one wants you to find out what happened to Eddie more than I do. He was my brother. But going down this road to find another member of my team killed a lot of people last time, almost including me. I _cannot_, in good conscience, let you walk into that."

David held his breath and in so doing noticed that Karen had sniffled a few times while Frank was speaking.

_She's either holding back tears of joy from hearing his voice_, David thought, _or she's already made up her mind and knows the pain her choice will cause him. _

_And what it will cost. _

"Karen, _please_," Frank whispered, "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry," she apologized.

A dial tone played through the line.

"Karen?" Frank's voice sounded stunned. "What happened? Did you lose her?"

David shook his head, already bracing himself. "No. She hung up."

"_GOD DAMNIT_!"

A loud crash came through the phone, followed by a few more and a whole slew of new swear words. David pulled the phone away from his ear and lowered the volume.

"Frank, calm down," he tried.

"_No, you listen to me_," Frank snarled, "Right now someone is coming after me and I can't watch over her while I'm being hunted, or I risk her life. Everyone who worked on Operation Cerberus is dead now because people hunted them down. Every goddamn one. So if she's poking around, then someone is going to notice, and if something happens to her…I…"

Another crash sounded over the phone.

"You mean everyone being dead but you," David clarified.

"I _AM _dead! Frank Castle died two years ago!"

Without hesitation, David stated, "Well then. What is Pete going to do about it? You once told me Karen is family. What do we do for family?"

At the heart of it, David knew Frank would do anything for Karen. That was made painfully clear when Frank was willing to compromise their work on Rawlins a few years back. So there was no way in hell that Frank was going to let Karen walk into this alone either. All of this shouting and throwing things here and now was just a reflex, a physical manifestation of the rage and frustration she stoked within him. But ultimately, it didn't matter. No matter how many things Frank threw across the room, no matter how many swear words uttered, he would always come to the same conclusion.

"...She's gonna be the death of me," he grumbled and hung up.


End file.
